Two years have passed since these disastrous events; and twenty years
since the opening of our story. The causes at work in the beginning,
have wrought out their legitimate effects--the tree has ripened its
fruits--the harvest has been gathered. The quiet of old times has fallen
upon S----. It was only a week ago that steps were taken to set the long
silent mills in motion. A company, formed in Boston, has purchased the
lower mill, and rented from Mr. Wallingford the upper one, which was
built on the Allen estate. Squire Floyd, I learn, is to be the manager
here for the company. I am glad of this. Poor man! He was stripped
of everything, and has been, for the past two years, in destitute
circumstances. How he has contrived to live, is almost a mystery. The
elegant house which he had built for himself was taken and sold by
creditors, with the furniture, plate, and all things pertaining thereto,
and, broken-spirited, he retired to a small tenement on the outskirts of
the town, where he has since lived. His unhappy daughter, with her two
children, are with him. Her son, old enough to be put to some business,
she has placed in a store, where he is earning enough to pay his board;
while she and her daughter take in what sewing they can obtain, in order
to lessen, as far as possible, the burden of their maintenance. Alas for
her that the father of those children should be a convicted felon!
I move about through S----on my round of duties, and daily there comes
to me some reminder of the events and changes of twenty years. I see,
here and there, a stranded wreck, and think how proudly the vessel
spread her white sails in the wind a few short years gone by, freighted
with golden hopes. But where are those treasures now? Lost, lost forever
in the fathomless sea!
Twenty years ago, and now! As a man soweth, even so shall he reap.
Spring time loses itself in luxuriant summer, and autumn follows with
the sure result. If the seed has been good, the fruit will be good; but
if a man have sown only tares in his fields, he must reap in sorrow and
not in joy. There is no exception to the rule. A bramble bush can no
more bear grapes, than a selfish and evil life can produce happiness.
The one is a natural, and the other a spiritual, impossibility.
A few days ago, as I was riding along on a visit to one of my patients,
I met Mr. and Mrs. Wallingford, with two of their children, driving
out in their carriage. They stopped, and we were passing a few pleasant
words, when there came by two persons, plainly, almost coarsely
dressed--a mother and her daughter. Both had bundles in their hands.
Over the mother's face a veil was drawn, and as she passed, with
evidently quickening steps, she turned herself partly away. The daughter
looked at us steadily from her calm blue eyes, in which you saw a shade
of sadness, as though already many hopes had failed. Her face was
pale and placid, but touched you with its expression of half-concealed
suffering, as if, young as she was, some lessons of pain and endurance
had already been learned.
“Who are they?” asked Mrs. Wallingford.
“Delia Floyd and her daughter,” said I.
No remark was made. If my ears did not deceive me, I heard a faint sigh
pass the lips of Mr. Wallingford.
I spoke to my horse, and, bowing mutually, we passed on our ways.
“Twenty years ago, and now!” said I to myself, falling into a sober
mood, as thought went back to the sweet, fragrant morning of Delia's
life, and I saw it in contrast with this dreary autumn. “If the young
would only take a lesson like this to heart!”
In the evening, Mr. Wallingford called to see me.
“I have not been able, all day,” said he, “to get the image of that poor
woman and her daughter out of my mind. What are their circumstances,
Doctor?”
“They live with Squire Floyd,” I answered, “and he is very poor. I think
Delia and her daughter support themselves by their needles.”
“What a fall!” he said, with pity in his tones.
“Yes, it was a sad fall--sad, but salutary, I trust.”
“How was she after her separation from Mr. Dewey?”
“Very bitter and rebellious, for a time. His marriage seemed to arouse
every evil passion of her nature. I almost shuddered to hear the
maledictions she called down upon the head of his wife one day, when
she rode by in the elegant equipage of which she had once been the proud
owner. She fairly trembled with rage. Since then, the discipline of the
inevitable in life has done its better work. She has grown subdued and
patient, and is doing all a mother in such narrow circumstances can do
for her children.”
“What of Dewey's second wife?” asked Mr. Wallingford.
“She has applied for a divorce from him, on the ground that he is a
convicted felon; and will get a decree in her favor, without doubt.”
“What a history!” he exclaimed. Then, after a pause, he asked--
“Cannot something be done for Mr. Floyd?”
“I have understood,” said I, “that the company about to start the mills
again have engaged him as manager.”
“Is that so? Just what I was thinking,” he replied, with animation. “I
must look after that matter, and see that it does not fall through.”
And he was in this, as in all things, as good as his word. It needed
only a favorable intimation from him to decide the company to place
their works in the hands of Squire Floyd, who was a man of skill and
experience in manufacturing, and one in whose integrity the fullest
confidence might be reposed.
A month has passed; and Squire Floyd, engaged at a salary of two
thousand dollars a year, is again at the mills, busy in superintending
repairs, improvements, and additions. A few more weeks, and the rattle
of industry will commence, and the old aspect of things show itself in
S----. May the new mill owners be wiser than their predecessors!
Squire Floyd has removed from the poor tenement lately the home of his
depressed family, and is back in the pleasant homestead he abandoned
years ago, when pride and ambition impelled him to put on a grander
exterior. It is understood that the company have bought the house, and
rent it to him at a very moderate price. My own impression is, that
Mr. Wallingford has more to do in the matter than people imagine. I am
strengthened in this view, from the fact of having seen Mrs. Wallingford
call at the Squire's twice during the past week. They are in good hands,
and I see a better future in store for them.
And now, reader, you have the story I wished to tell. It is full of
suggestion to all who are starting forth upon life's perilous journey.
Let truth, honor, integrity, and humanity, govern all your actions. Do
not make haste to be rich, lest you fall into divers temptations. Keep
always close to the right; and always bear in mind that no wrong is ever
done that does not, sooner or later, return upon the wrong-doer.
And above all, gentle maiden, be not dazzled by the condition or
prospect of any who seek your hand.
Look away, down, deeply into the character, disposition, and quality;
and if these are not of good seeming, shun the proffered alliance as you
would death. Better, a thousand times, pass through life alone than wed
yourself to inevitable misery. So heeding the moralist, you will not,
in the harvest time which comes to all, look in despair over your barren
fields, but find them golden with Autumn's treasures, that shall fill
your granaries and crown your latter days with blessing.
The End.